You know who I miss the most? Calvin. I grew up with Calvin; he was always six years old but he was always older than me. He was a child sage, and I didn't always understand him but we had lots of fun together, Calvin, Hobbes, and I. He knew from the very beginning that school was there to beat his mind into shape, and he rebelled not only by outright refusal to be contained, but by shaping parts of his mind before those parts could be squeezed into public school molds. He knew, like all children know, what it means to have a good time, but he knew it consciously at such a young age. What's more, he laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him differently, right before dropping a water balloon on their head. Calvin knew the TV was there to satisfy the sweet tooth of the mind, and he let it work its glittering magic on him every once in a while, but it never really got to him. Partly, this was because he knew what exactly it was doing, and partly because of Hobbes.

I miss Hobbes too. Hobbes knew what fun was just as well as Calvin did; sometimes he knew it better. He was a voice of reason, but never too much reason. Just enough to keep Calvin from riding that wagon over too high of a cliff, just enough to make sure that chucking water balloons and snowballs was always more fun than the TV. Hobbes was there to put a jolt of Life back into Calvin's existence at the end of the daily public school slog.

But Calvin's gone now. I don't know where he went or what he does now, but I think he may have grown up. He probably didn't mean for it to happen; it probably snuck up on him when he wasn't looking. Once he grew up, he stopped really being Calvin, you know? And the worst part is, growing up was the only thing Hobbes couldn't save him from. Without the real Calvin, Hobbes is just a stuffed tiger, and without the real Hobbes, Calvin can't be the real Calvin we all knew. It took both of them to survive in this world, and if we had them here today they'd know how to deal with the ever-growing weirdness and sickness of our society and they'd show us all how it's done.

But one cannot exist without the other, and now they're both gone. Maybe if we could find them they'd tell us how to find Curly.

Calvin and Hobbes represented a rebellion verging on impertinence; where can I find woods and hills in my backyard, in the City?

Bill Watterson fought his hardest to live by his own rules, and went back to his own little corner of the world when he finished--as I understand things. That's fine for him, but it's not my style. I might retreat, but I couldn't stand to abandon society. Calvin and Hobbes and Devo tried to save us, and now we're here. Maybe a new agent or angel or prophet of wisdom could turn all towards where we need to be.

At first, I was thinking of children playing in the ruins, tiny avatars of Aftermath. Then I realized that we don't live there, and even if the imagery resonated with people, it wouldn't take us where I want to go. My thoughts catch on points of the hideously, mediocrily new--buildings where the "white" paint and sidewalk began and remain bleakly, uniformly grey. Not even a hearty grey. At night, the sidewalks are heavily lit, and pretty much bereft of people. Doesn't help that I live at a "commuter school" that's trying to build up a residential population.

So, there you have it. I propose children playing in the ruins or a party of ages 5-25 (childlike) in a Gothicised/horror world of white and pastels and grey to embody and deliver the wisdom needed in this decade.

Calvin and Hobbes were like a primer to looking at everything happening to you and calling it what you thought was BS, even if it came out of a parent, teacher, or principal. It was a heads up to anyone who couldn't decide otherwise that the best fun would NEVER be allowed, justified or facilitated. It was an introduction to doing something decidedly STUPID, but jumping on the tobbogan or wagon anyways and hurtling off. Self discovery and personal liberation are STILL worth bruises and skinned knees.